


Pull the Earth Around Me

by avalonjoan



Series: Ship to Wreck [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, are you even a little surprised, fake providence bruins mention, you shouldn't be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6222157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonjoan/pseuds/avalonjoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's late fall after Jack's graduation and he's off playing with the Falconers. While he wishes they were closer, he usually handle being alone in Providence with Bitty still at school.  Exception: the first time he gets sent home sick from practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pull the Earth Around Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from my current Jack Zimmerman anxiety jam "Ship to Wreck" by Florence + The Machine

Jack was used to waking up sore. What he wasn’t used to was waking up soaked in sweat and shaking.   He’d turned on the forced-air heat in the apartment for the first time the night before, which probably needed adjusting. The dry air would also explain the cough he seemed to have developed overnight. He rolled out of bed, got dressed, and left for practice, decidedly not hungry for breakfast. In the locker room, he was able to brush off his teammates’ concerns until he stood after tying his skates and the room spun. Sinking back onto the bench, he didn’t object when Brett went to get the trainer and Pat helped him out of his gear.

Twenty minutes later, he was getting into a cab at the instruction of the trainer, who deemed the few blocks to his place ‘too far to walk.’ The sun was just barely in the sky as he collapsed into his bed, having changed back into sweatpants and his old Samwell hoodie as soon as he got inside. Out of habit, he plugged in his phone and set it on the nightstand. After curling up and pulling the covers up to his neck, he reached out from underneath them and picked up his phone, sending a brief text to Bitty.

_You awake?_

His eyes were closed when he felt the buzz of a reply.

_Unfortunately, yes. Got up early on my day off to study for my abnormal psychology exam._

There was a pause, and then a second alert.

_Shouldn’t you be at practice?_

Of course Bitty knew his schedule.

_Sick day._

Jack muffled a cough against the blankets, his head swimming with fever. His phone buzzed again. And again. And again. He unplugged the charging cable and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Bitty’s voice was overly gentle, the younger man already doing a poor job of pretending not to worry. “What’s going on?”

“Trainer thinks it’s the flu. I’m gonna be out for a few days.”

Bitty sighed. “I’m sorry, darlin’. You don’t sound well.”

Jack cleared his throat, which did precisely nothing to improve his gravelly voice. “I feel terrible.”

“I wish I were there to take care of you.”

“Me too.” At Samwell, Jack had always camped out in his room when he got sick, emerging a few days later when the worst was over. But the Haus had been home, with the team constantly asking if he needed anything, even though he always rebuffed their offers. The apartment was too new, too isolated, and it was a lot harder to hide how miserable he was when he was not just alone, but lonely. “Everything hurts, Bitty.”  

“I know, baby, I know.” For a second, Jack could pretend that Bitty was right there in bed with him, lips close to his ear, fingers brushing over his hair. “I should let you rest.”

“Do you have to?”

“How about I call you when it’s time to reload on Tylenol? That way you can sleep, and I can check in on you.” Jack didn’t say anything, and Bitty went on, voice getting faster, “Not that you can’t remember on your own, it just—”

“I haven’t taken anything,” Jack interrupted.

“Why don’t you do that now, get some rest, and then I’ll call you in a few hours?” There were rhythmic thuds in the background of the call; Bitty was pacing. “I’d start with two now, and one every four—or six—I’ll go check.”

Clearing his throat again, Jack waited for the other to trail off. “Bits, I don’t have any here.”

Bitty groaned, the pacing coming to a halt. “Jack Zimmerman,” he started, and Jack knew a scolding was coming next, “You are a grown man who autographs pictures of his own face and gets stopped on the street so people can take pictures with you, and you’re telling me you don’t own a bottle of Tylenol?”

“I never got around to it?”

There was a brief pause, and then, “I’m coming down there.”

“You have work to do,” Jack protested.

“And I’ll do it on the train, or while you sleep.” The background noise turned into rustling of papers, and the sound of drawers being opened and closed. “It’ll take me a few hours to get there, so in the meantime, at least try to stay hydrated. You do still have cups and access to water, right?”

With a laugh that quickly turned into coughing, Jack managed to reply, “Yes. I think I’ll live another few hours.”

“You’d better.” Bitty took a deep breath and let it out, and Jack wished he had a reason to assure the other that he didn’t need worrying about. “I love you, Jack.”

“I love you too, Bitty.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

The call ended, and Jack dropped the phone back onto the mattress, not bothering to plug it in again. He readjusted the covers and waited for his shivering to subside enough to allow him to sleep.

 

He awoke to a metallic clang in the kitchen, followed by a soft ‘hush!’ Opening his eyes, Jack saw that Bitty had not only plugged his phone in, but also left a glass of water and two white tablets on the bedside table.   Jack had kicked the covers off in his sleep, and he shifted positions to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for the glass. There was a piece of paper tucked underneath it, with a neatly printed note.

_You had one job! One! Drink._

Smiling, Jack put the pills in his mouth and washed the down with a sip of water. He drank the rest of the water and set the glass back down. Standing, he took the comforter off the bed, wrapped it around his shoulders, and walked into the kitchen.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Bitty abandoned the pot on the stove and rushed over, throwing his arms around Jack. “Lord, you’re burning up.”

“I took the Tylenol you left out. And the water. Sorry.”

“Good. Before that kicks in, though,” Bitty let go of Jack and knelt by his backpack in the entryway, pulling a thermometer out of a plastic bag that held a few other containers of medicine. He led Jack to one of the chairs in the kitchen, and Jack sat down, letting Bitty slide the end of the device under his tongue for a few seconds. “102.5.” Shaking his head, Bitty went to rinse the tip of the thermometer before setting it on the countertop and going back over to Jack. He pulled out another chair and sat down so that their knees were touching, looking Jack up and down, his lips a tight line.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Jack glanced around the kitchen, at the container of frozen soup thawing on the counter, at Bitty’s overnight bag packed with study materials, at the boy across from him, too worried to look away, and—dammit, the fever wasn’t helping—tears welled in his eyes and he choked out, “I’m really, really glad you’re here,” as he dried his cheeks with his sleeves.

And Bitty was out of the chair, bending over him, holding him close, one hand running over his back in a sweet, calming rhythm. “Oh, darlin’, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Jack felt Bitty pressing kisses to the top of his head, and a fresh wave of tears came on. “You’re too good to me.”

“My love, you deserve every bit of this,” Bitty murmured, pulling away and holding Jack’s face in his hands.

“But Eric,” Jack started, shaking his head. The last time he’d used Bitty’s real name was when they first used the word ‘love’ about each other, a few months before. “I waited so long. You were across the hall for a whole year, and I didn’t let myself even consider—” he took a shuddering breath, “I wanted to be a Serious Heterosexual Athlete and I didn’t realize until—”

Bitty leaned in and kissed him, and Jack fell silent.

“Jack. Listen to me.” The younger man had a fond smile on his lips, like he was amused at Jack’s perseveration. “We’re here now. And that’s because everything happened the way it did.”

Sniffling, Jack looked at Bitty, confused.

“You stopped being my captain when you graduated. We got another year to play together.  Heck, you ended up at Samwell in the first place instead of in the NHL, where the most relationship we could have had would have been me putting up full-size posters of you in my dorm room.”

If there was ever an upside to nearly destroying his career as a teenager, Bitty was it. This beautiful, giving boy who had shown up one day, who had shone light on the parts of Jack that he had tried to ignore.  This boy who had trusted him to help.

“I know I can’t stop you, but you don’t have to worry about what-ifs.” Bitty ran his fingers over Jack’s lips. “We have all the time we need.”

Jack’s breath caught in his throat, and he nodded, his jaw trembling.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone this done-in by a fever.” Wiping the few lingering tears off Jack’s face, Bitty offered a small smile and shook his head. “Chowder asked how you were doing, but it looks like I’m gonna have to tell a few lies of omission.” He coaxed Jack to his feet, one hand on his back to keep him steady. “Let’s get you back to bed and cool you down, okay, love?”

Jack followed Bitty into the bedroom, allowing the other to arrange the pillows and covers him with the bedsheet. He tried to even out his breathing while the other went into the bathroom and ran the faucet. Kneeling by the bedside, Bitty ran the wet washcloth over Jack’s forehead and down the sides of his neck. He sighed, turning his head slightly to allow the other access to more skin. “There we go,” Bitty cooed, smoothing Jack’s damp hair off of his forehead. “I’m so sorry you’re sick.”

Just letting the other touch him with delicate, cool strokes made him feel better than he had minutes before. His head still hurt, partly from being sick and partly from crying, but he didn’t want to close his eyes with Bitty looking at him so tenderly.

As the other pressed the cloth to his temple and down to his jawline, Jack leaned in and kissed Bitty’s fingertips, mumbling, “Come to bed?”

“Of course.” Jack felt Bitty lift the sheet and slide in beside him, the washcloth abandoned somewhere on the floor. The smaller man put his arms around Jack’s chest, holding him from behind, lips close to his neck. “You’re gonna be okay, honey. I’ve got you.”


End file.
